


Collected DS9 Ficlets

by Psilent (HereThereBeFic)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Episode Tag, Fanvids, Ficlet Collection, Gen, M/M, One Shot Collection, episode tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-25 00:20:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 7,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1622234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereThereBeFic/pseuds/Psilent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ongoing collection of ficlets too small and/or too rough-draft to be posted as standalones.</p><p>UPDATE: Chapter 11 is a fanvid!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Your Best

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr here: http://psilentasincjelli.tumblr.com/post/78300870384/
> 
> General Warnings: Spoilers about Julian Bashir's past
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Child abuse, eugenics, ableism, needles (only used for sewing in this context)

_**Just do your best, Jules. That’s all that counts.** _

Julian doesn’t trust either of his parents, but he distrusts his mother less.

So when he realizes that he doesn’t remember the first time he mended Kukalaka, before he lets either hope or resignation take hold, he asks her.

"You were five years old," she tells him. "His leg came right off, but you didn’t cry. You just said you had to fix him. I threaded the needle for you, and tied it off at the end. But you sewed him up yourself. I had never seen you so focused."

_**You’re making progress, Jules. Just keep trying.** _

All he really hears is the number. It pounds with his heartbeat and his footsteps and the slam of his bedroom door.

_Five. Five. Five._

He was never five years old. Jules was five. Jules was one and two and three and four and five and six and _gone_.

_**'Cat', Jules. It says 'cat.' Nevermind, you'll get the next one. Five more minutes and then you can go play.** _

Eventually, the bear becomes another part of the mask. Silly, childish Julian, so hopelessly naïve. Hanging on to an old stuffed toy suits his character just fine.

Sometimes, on the bad nights, the nights when he can’t sleep because the lies and the truth are crashing into each other until he can’t tell them apart; because he has no idea what he is or what he should be; because he did his best and it wasn’t enough and now he _can’t_ ; because no matter where he looks there aren’t any answers for him—

_**Are you even trying, Jules?** _

He runs his fingers along the seam on Kukalaka’s leg, the clumsy and doubled-over stitches of a determined toddler, and he whispers, “You did a good job, Jules. I’m so proud of you,” and he lets himself think, for a little while, that maybe Jules could have been a doctor too.

Most nights, it only makes things worse.

_**We only wanted you to be happy.** _


	2. Old Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode 2x16, "Shadowplay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr here: http://psilentasincjelli.tumblr.com/post/78284859272/

”And then the great Minra said to the evil Changeling, ‘maybe you can turn into a mountain, or a Ghergher beast, or a tornado, but those are _big_ things! And big things are easy. I bet you can’t turn into something _small,_ like a loaf of grain bread.’ And so the Changeling said, ‘Yes I can!’ And he did! And do you know what happened?”

Odo rolled his eyes. Whose idea had it been to bring a small child along on this little outing, anyway? “The great Minra gobbled him up,” he said, and noted briefly the look of disappointment on the girl’s face.

"How’d you know that?" she demanded.

Kids would be kids. He didn’t for one second consider telling her the truth.

_I’ve heard it before._


	3. Losing People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene from episode 2x13, "Armageddon Game."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Alcohol. Brief description of what could be flashbacks brought on by PTSD or something similar.
> 
> On tumblr here: http://psilentasincjelli.tumblr.com/post/78094379184/

The drink is good, and strong, and, unfathomably, on the house. Nerys hardly tastes it, hardly feels the burn, and leaves Quark’s unusual generosity to contemplate later. When her skin has stopped crawling, maybe.

Jadzia sets her glass down, still mostly full, and Nerys follows suit. She feels disconnected from her body, watches her own hands fold on the table like a stranger’s.

In her peripheral vision, Jadzia tilts her head, leans forward, body language an open book of worry. “Major?”

She doesn’t try to meet Jadzia’s eyes, just stares at a spot on the table between their two drinks.

 _Breathe_ , she commands herself, and does so. She shuts her eyes, drags her hands closer to her chest and feels the wood grain as acutely as she’s ever felt a cave floor, a badly put together ship’s broken grating and rough edges. She is under fire all over again and there is no one to shoot back at.

Her chest aches. She breathes again. “I’m supposed to be done losing people.”


	4. Your Best...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another one from Armageddon Game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr here: http://psilentasincjelli.tumblr.com/post/78095301236/

_I should tell him. We’re going to die anyway_.

Not a single second has passed since their arrival without the thought crossing his mind.

But he has spent his entire adult life keeping this secret. It’s too entrenched in him, too automatic, would take too much time and effort to unravel, to tear the words from his own mouth.

And always the next thought crops up, stubborn and relentless:

_We might not. We **might not**._

And now here they are, backed into a corner waiting to die, and they _are_ going to die. They _are_. He wonders if it might have been different, if only he’d answered Miles’ question honestly from the start: _What makes you think you can fix this?_

He knows what Miles is going to say before he says it, but his stomach still lurches as the engineer adamantly announces that he will die on his feet.

Everything feels like a bad dream. He thinks of Keiko. He thinks of Molly. “I’m sorry I didn’t get us home, Chief.”

Miles huffs a laugh, miserable and resigned. “You did your best.”

Julian bites his tongue. _I didn’t. I really, really didn’t._


	5. Oblivious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode tag for 3x07, "Civil Defense."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr here: http://psilentasincjelli.tumblr.com/post/81056791932/

She didn’t stop Garak on his way out of Ops. She was tired and angry and dizzy with relief, and there were casualties to worry about, and her time was better spent getting Jadzia to the infirmary and then helping Odo deal with the mass panic in the habitat ring. ( _Jadzia can walk. Jadzia has Julian. **Jadzia is in** **pain**._ )

She went to his shop the next day, on her lunch break.

His surprised smile looked as genuine as any expression she’d ever seen him wear, but that was what he did with expressions: wore them. She ignored his polite inquiries about her day and her well-being, leaned over the counter, and looked him in the eye. She didn’t wait for him to shut up.

"I don’t know if you thought you were doing me a _favor_ with Dukat, but you _weren’t._ I _will_ find out just _what_ your history is with him, but in the meantime, Garak, you leave me _out_ of it. I’m not on your _side,_ I’m not a _possession_ you can dangle in front of him, and I’m not _oblivious._ I knew what he was doing. I didn’t think acknowledging it would help anything. Did it occur to you I might have _wanted_ him to think I was still in the dark about his intentions?”

"Major, I—"

"Don’t think we’re friends. Don’t assume you can take liberties with me. Don’t _treat_ me like that and expect me to _forget_ about it. I like you just a little bit more than I like him, and I would _happily_ dump him out of an airlock. You have a nice day, Garak.”


	6. Just Be Careful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write Julian rambling about his Dangerous Crush to his Concerned Best Friend, so I did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr here: http://psilentasincjelli.tumblr.com/post/85510307134/

"I’m just - saying be _careful_ , Julian, that’s all.”

"I am actually an adult, you know. I’m _capable_ of making decisions and taking care of myself and-“

"Oh, for - Julian, he’s a _spy_. His _job_ is to make people like you trust him.”

“‘People like me’? What, you mean _gullible_ , naive -“

"I mean _Federation_ , calm down.”

"Oh."

"… _Really_ , just - _Garak_? Really?”

"Look-"

"I just don’t see _why_.”

"He’s - he’s _interesting_.”

"Because he’s _a_ _spy_.”

"No, I - I mean he… He’s…"

"Oh, hell, the look on your face. You’re _gone_.”

"I’ve never met someone so… artistic."

"Come again?"

"Everything he does is just… I mean, conversation, work, eating _lunch_. Everything is so… orchestrated.”

"…Julian, again: _spy_.”

"I know that! If someone said you were - were good with your hands, would you dismiss them because you’re an engineer?"

"I don’t use my hands to get government secrets out of people."

"And what a waste of talent that is."

"Shut up. My _point_ is, there is a world of difference between being an engineer and being a spy. …No, that wasn’t my point. Close enough.”

"I’m putting a moratorium on the word spy. You’re not allowed to say it for the rest of this conversation."

"And if I do?"

"I will _leave_.”

"No you won’t. Who else are you gonna babble at about this?"

"There’s always Kukalaka."

"…All right, fine, I cannot in good conscience send you off to gush about your feelings to a stuffed bear. No more of that word, then. Go on."

"I just - it’s hard to tell what he’s really _saying_ , sometimes.”

"Julian…"

“ _Moratorium_. Anyway, that’s not exactly what I mean. I’ve gotten better at reading between Garak’s… particular lines.”

"Never say that again."

"It’s more of a cultural issue, really."

"Cultural?"

"Cardassian social etiquette is very different from most human cultures. I mean, it’s difficult to tell what’s universal and what’s regional or personal, with how closely they guard their information, but there are some… common threads. In particular, sometimes it almost seems like they’ve _deliberately_ set themselves against the most common Federation mores.”

"For instance?"

"Well, um. _Arguing_ is… is one of the most popular methods of, uhm, of flirtation.”

"…Oh. Uh, yeah, I. I knew that one, actually."

"You-"

"Long story. Misunderstandings, y’know."

"…Mis-"

"Misunderstandings that did _not_ _involve_ _Garak_.”

"Right. But I mean - we argue, um, a lot. All the time. About everything. Mostly literature, but then there’s my eating habits, my fashion choices, conflicting philosophical viewpoints, really just… whatever happens to cross either of our minds."

"Sounds like in Cardassian terms you’re already well on your way."

"That’s just it, though! I don’t know if we’re _on_ Cardassian terms. I don’t know how much he knows I know! What if he’s been trying to - to be more _human_ , to compromise with me so we’d both be comfortable?”

"Have you considered asking him?"

"Garak’s not really one for straight answers."

"Well, you’d better hope not."

"Ha ha."

"You’re never gonna get anywhere without talking to him about it."

"You don’t know that."

"…I’m pretty sure I do."

"It’s not - it’s not how Cardassians _do_ things. I don’t think. There’s not exactly an abundance of - of Cardassian-specific interspecies romantic advice, or at least none accessible to the other species involved. But - from what I _have_ read, and from what I’ve _observed_ , they can talk in circles around any given subject for hours, or days, or their entire _lives_ and still extract more meaning out of it than I ever seem to get from Garak. It might be _rude_ to approach a topic directly, I don’t know.”

"If he’s interested, I think you could probably get away with a _little_ bit of rude.”

"Oh, no. No no no. One misstep could fracture everything."

"Sounds exhausting."

"But never boring."


	7. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post ep 6x18, _Inquisition_ , in a universe where Julian is in a relationship with both Miles and Keiko.

Miles doesn't know _exactly_ what happened to Julian.

Everything is on a need to know basis and someone has decided he doesn't need most of it, not yet. But he knows the basics.

So no matter how busy he is, no matter how keen the station seems to be on falling apart lately, and no matter that their schedules haven't been syncing up at _all_ , he doesn't miss the fact that Julian isn't sleeping.

He doesn't miss the sluggishness, the dark circles like bruises around his eyes, the dozing off in Quark's bar or at the replimat on lunch breaks - surrounded by people - only to shake himself awake and go back on duty without even eating.

And he finally can't take it anymore.

"Come on."

Julian blinks up at him, opens his mouth and gets out a confused "wha?"  that's mostly lost under yet another _DABO!_ from the tables.

Miles drags him to his feet. "Come with me."

"Come wi- why? What, what's-"

"You're getting some sleep."

"Miles, my- my lunch break is over in-"

"You're on medical leave for the next two days. And I'm off shift for the night. Now move your feet, or I'll carry you across the Promenade."

It's a quiet walk after that.

They always, automatically, leave room in the bed for Keiko. She's still (again) away on Bajor with the kids, working, but the left side is _hers_.

Julian more or less collapses on the right, face-first and still in uniform, and Miles hauls him back up. "Ah ah, none of that. No such thing as real sleep in these bloody things."

Julian groans and slumps against him, head thunking down on his shoulder. Miles rolls his eyes. "Come on, Julian! You've been awake for days, you can make it one more minute!"

For significantly longer than one minute, Julian mutters incoherent protests while Miles impatiently maneuvers him out of his uniform and boots. They briefly attempt pajamas, but after one too many stumbles Julian waves him off with an irritated growl and collapses again in his boxers, kicking the offending pajama pants off from around his ankles.

Good enough.

Miles settles beside him (in the middle, and his legs hook backwards into Keiko's spot and it still, again, jars him momentarily when he doesn't get tangled up with her knees) and pulls up the blankets. "Computer, lights."

"'m I really on medical leave?" Julian asks, mumbling into his pillow as the room darkens.

"Yes, you are."

"For two _days_?"

"Not long enough if you ask me."

Julian sighs. "Youuu went t'th'...the capt... _you_. Miles. Damn it."

" _Captain Sisko_ was about to assign you _counseling_."

"Oh God."

"I told him you needed a couple good nights' sleep and he said we could try that first. You're welcome."

"...Thank you. Really. For this." Julian nudges closer, and Miles throws an arm over him. He's shivering. Miles doesn't ask if he's cold.

"You're safe, Julian," he says quietly instead. "I promise."

Julian laughs, mirthless and hollow and _tired_. "None of us are safe."

"Fine, Doctor Sunshine, you're safe at this particular moment from being abducted out of bed in the middle of the night."

"Again."

"Again."

 _"Twice,_ Miles. _Twice!_ I mean _once,_ sure, _slightly_ traumatic but _anomalous_ , I would have thought, I did think, I - waking up in an _internment camp,_ that was - but Sloan - I was so _tired_ that morning and I couldn't think _why,_ I couldn't - they _replicated Kukalaka_ , Miles, do you know how _invasive_ that - I _talked_ to that Sisko for a _day,_ and if it was all a simulation that means they got my breakfast wrong on _purpose_!"

He's waking himself up, gaining coherence if not cohesion, and if he doesn't stop now he'll be up all night. Miles finds his hand in the dark and clutches it tightly. "Julian, hey. _Hey._ Listen, I'm not gonna tell you you're overreacting. Okay? You're _not._ But you _need_ to sleep."

"I know, I know... I just..." Julian swallows. "What if they just - just t-take you, too? Or, or, or kill you? Or I, I don't know, _drug_ you, or -"

"I'll stay awake."

"I can't - I can't ask you t-"

"You didn't. Now hush."

"...Thank you," Julian says again, barely audible, and Miles presses a kiss to his forehead and pulls him closer, absently massaging the knotted muscles in his back. He's still shivering.

"Just go to sleep."

Julian exhales, shaky and too fast, but some of the tension finally leaves his shoulders. "On it, Chief."


	8. It's Just War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: War, PTSD, unreality, gore. Spoilers for later seasons.

He wasn’t technically on shift. It was late, by his own sleep cycle, and he could have - should have - been in bed.

But Keiko and Molly and Yoshi were still gone - safe. But gone. And the idea of facing empty quarters was… frankly not something he was sure he was up to. Empty rooms that should have held company - last night he’d caught himself idly dragging his fingers in a circle on the kitchen table, mind already half given over to the patterns ready to emerge.

Down here, in the inner workings of the station, it made sense to be alone.

Behind him came the soft thud of someone sliding down the ladder. Miles glanced over his shoulder, attempted a friendly look, and set down his tools. “Julian.”

Julian didn’t smile. “I was hoping you’d be down here.”

"Is something up?" He tried not to sound - anything. Terrified, exhausted. Ready.

Julian shook his head. “Not really. Just…” He leaned back against the ladder. He moved like he should have been lying down several hours ago. “…I could use a bit of company. I thought, maybe… you could, too.”

After a brief and frustrated analysis of the situation, Miles shrugged and turned back to his work. “Fine by me.” A fundamental law of the universe: if Julian wanted to talk, he would.

He didn’t.

After several minutes of undoing and redoing the same three connections over and over again, Miles sighed, and ducked back out of the panel. “What’s wrong?”

Julian shrugged, and slid a bit further towards the floor, arms hooked through the sides of the ladder. “The problem with Garak,” he said quietly, and Miles very slowly and carefully set his tools down again, “is that we can’t do this.”

"Do what?"

"Just… sit and not talk. We’re always talking. I’m not sure we know how to exist around each other without some sort of constant dialogue."

Miles wiped his hands on a rag and started to put his things back in the case - partly because he’d just realized his head was swimming and it was selfish and dangerous to be toying around with vital station systems to keep himself busy, and partly because he didn’t think this conversation would particularly benefit from eye contact.

"To be fair, Julian," he said, "you’re not exactly quiet in any case."

Julian snorted. “Well, no. But I _can_ be. I’m not sure he can. And if we…” He broke off, sighed, contorted himself awkwardly through the ladder to rest his chin on a rung.

Miles shut the tool case and slid it aside. He leaned back against the closed panel, because if he sat down he was probably not going to stand back up. “Did you have a fight or something?”

"No." Julian’s voice was muffled and strange as the metal caught the sound vibrations. "But we will, if we keep _talking._ ”

Miles almost laughed. Instead he folded his arms and tried to look annoyed. “Not exactly _my_ company you’re after, then.”

Julian’s immediately horrified look was equal parts guilt-inducing and extremely entertaining. “I didn’t -” he swung himself back out of the ladder and stood up straight, mouth opening and closing a few times before any more words actually got out: “I wasn’t trying to imply -“

Miles rolled his eyes. “Julian, it’s _fine_! I’m not saying I think you keep a _list_ and I’m at the bottom of it! I’m your friend; he’s… I don’t know, whatever he is.”

"Garak," Julian said quietly.

"…Yeah." Miles pushed off from the wall to keep himself from sliding down it. "He’s Garak."

"He just…" Julian shook his head. "He lives on so many _levels_. The world to him is just - layers and patterns and I can’t… It’s part biological brain difference and part… just, _him._ Everything has to mean something else. And I mean.” He laughed, and it was a rasping, awful noise. “I’m pretty _good_ at that. But. It’s still _different_ , for him. The present is the past and spells the future and this thing happening now happened decades ago with different people for different reasons and it will all happen again and it all _means_ something and I just -“

He grabbed the ladder again only to shove violently away from it. There wasn’t far to go in this space; he leaned back against the wall opposite Miles and glared up at the hatch in the ceiling. “I’m so tired of it. Of allegories and metaphors and - and turning everything into the way we talk about _books_. And it’s not fair, it’s how we’ve _always_ been and I can’t just suddenly tell him it’s got to change, I’ve never really _wanted_ it to change until now, but…”

He shook his head, and slid abruptly to the floor. “This - _this_ isn’t a metaphor, it doesn’t _mean_ something, it’s… It’s just war. We’re living it. I don’t _want_ it to be standing in for something else, I don’t want to be - to be up to my elbows in someone’s _ribcage_ and thinking ‘ah, yes, this barely-beating heart is also the flicker of _resistance_ against the Dominion that must be revitalized to save the _body_ which is of course the _Alpha_ Quadrant and sixty _years_ ago could have been _Bajor_ ,’ I’m busy enough just trying to keep the poor bastard on my table _alive_!” He gasped for breath, dropped his head into his hands and groaned. “I’m so _fucking tired_ , Miles. I only have a very basic idea of what the hell I’ve just said so please don’t hold any of it against me.”

 _Hell_ , Miles thought, and crossed the short distance to slide down beside his friend. _Not like I want to go home anyway._

"I slept on the floor last night," he said. "The bed was too soft and I kept waking up wondering where the hell all the sand had gone."

Julian looked up, stricken. “I’m sorry.”

Miles shrugged. “We’re all tired, Julian. It’s allowed.”

"It’s… annoying."

"It _happens_. And we sleep, and we dream, and we hate it, but we get through the war and we deal with the rest later.”

Julian met his gaze for only a moment before breaking away to stare at the floor. He swallowed. “I don’t understand how you can be doing it all _again_ ,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Miles clenched his jaw and shoved back at too many memories. “Neither do I, sometimes.”


	9. A Most Interesting Experience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tag for 1x05 Babel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: unreality, aphasia, needles (actually hyposprays but), death mention

It had been… a very long day. And it wasn’t over yet.

Chief O’Brien had been closer to death than anyone else seemed to fully realize – including the man himself, who had tried to crawl out of bed mumbling something about “repairs” the moment his fever and aphasia had let up. The antidote was still being administered, and security was having a hell of a time keeping everyone quarantined long enough for it to actually take effect before they could re-expose one another – and long enough for engineering crews to quietly work it into the atmospheric circulation systems.

Julian shouldn’t technically have been on duty. His symptoms had abated but he was still contagious and, if he was honest, a bit shaky. Most of his medical personnel were in the same position. But there were over three hundred terrified and angry patients to be looked after, so they pulled on their hazard gear and went to work.

"No fatalities," Nurse Jabara reminded him as they left the makeshift hospital. "It’s a beautiful thing."

He nodded his agreement and they split up, heading for separate turbolifts. Jabara had volunteered to search the cargo bays, and Julian was on his way to the Promenade.

It wasn’t quite deserted. Quark’s bar was the obvious place to start. He found a handful of wide-eyed stragglers who, of course, had not understood the announcement of an antidote. He waved them all into a corner, trying his best to look authoritative and reassuring and like he really, really did not want them to leave. It was difficult, through the visor.

Once Morn’s endless stream of non sequiturs had transitioned into his usual endless stream of whatever happened to be on his mind while his mouth was open, Julian followed his direction into a back room – to find Quark’s brother (Rom?), babbling and wringing his hands over his unconscious son.

As Julian approached, he realized with a start that Rom (definitely Rom, kid is Nog, now be _personable_ ) was in fact speaking perfectly clearly.

"Doctor!" he cried, sprinting the short distance between them and grabbing Julian’s arm to drag him the rest of the way. "I didn’t think he would get it, I – _I_ didn’t, my brother didn’t, the waiters didn’t, w-we Ferengi are made of strong stuff, but he’s, he’s so young, I didn’t – he just –”

"It’s all right," Julian said loudly, not bothering to shake him off. There weren’t many children on the station, but he felt like he’d met probably _all_ of their parents today, and all of them had been hysterical over their children and tangentially concerned for themselves. “It’s all right, Rom, we’ve got an antidote.”

"I heard." Rom let go of him. "I – I didn’t want to leave him here and I wasn’t – I wasn’t sure if anyone would come looking, and I didn’t know what – "

"He’ll be fine," Julian assured him, glad it wasn’t a platitude and infinitely grateful for the two or three affected Ferengi who had already responded positively to the antidote. "How long ago did his symptoms start?"

"I… I don’t know. A few hours, maybe. He - he wasn’t talking long before he passed out."

"Okay. He’s breathing fine, only a little feverish." The words came easily, a well-rehearsed script as he administered the antidote. "This is just his body’s way of conserving energy to fight off the infection. He’s going to be _fine,_ I promise. I’m going to give this to you as well, okay? Just in case.”

He didn’t have time to wait for Nog to wake up, but he assured Rom he would be back to check on him later. In the meantime, he called for security to send some officers to enforce a quarantine of the bar. The irritated reply of “and where would you suggest we _take_ them from” did not give him much hope, but he managed to enlist Morn to keep everyone in place. When he finally left, the others had surrounded him at a small table and were hanging on his every word.

There was no one at the replimat. Most of the shops and restaurants on the upper level were closed up and dark, and he stifled a tired groan at the thought of methodically breaking into every single one of them to make sure nobody had holed up inside.

He stopped in his tracks, halfway up the stairs. “ _Garak_.”

It felt simultaneously odd to be thinking of plain-simple-Garak in particular and even odder that it had taken him so long. They had only seen each other a few times since their first meeting, but –

Well. “Seen” in any real, intentional way. They did pass each other on the Promenade, nod and smile, say a couple words and go on their way, but they tried to have lunch once a week. And –

"Ugh." Julian thunked his hands against the visor. "He is  _exactly_ the kind of person who would  _not_ panic and seek medical attention.”

He sighed explosively, tried his best to hang on to whatever professional energy he had left, and made his way to Garak’s shop.

The door was unlocked, the lights were on, and Garak was sitting calmly at the front desk. Folding shirts.

Julian stood awkwardly in the doorway for a few seconds before he could quite summon the presence of mind to at least clear his throat. Then he remembered the hazard suit and did it again, but louder.

Garak looked up – opened his mouth, closed it, and waved instead.

Julian waved back. “Er, hello. I don’t suppose you’ve somehow managed to escape this.”

"Channel sideways panel, faucet," Garak said calmly, and continued folding.

Julian sighed. “No, I didn’t think so.”

It was no use telling Garak what he was doing. He did anyway. “To be honest, I have no idea if this is even safe to give you. We haven’t exactly had a chance to test it on Cardassians. I can only assume that since the original virus was targeted against your species and you seem to be showing at least the same preliminary symptoms… Though actually. Hm. You’ve hardly got a fever, and you don’t seem… Hmm. I’ll start you off with a smaller dosage of the antidote, just to be safe, and go from there.”

Same basic procedure: show the patient the hypospray before injecting them, make it clear what you’re doing, observe carefully, sit back and wait.

Garak kept folding the shirts even as Julian administered the hypospray. After roughly a minute, he faltered, and slid the pile of clothing aside. “Thank you, Doctor. I trust that was understandable?”

Julian grinned. “Yep. Welcome back.”

Garak inclined his head. “I must admit, it is a relief. Although that _was_ a most…  _interesting_ experience.”

"That’s one word for it." Julian hit his comm badge. "Bashir to medical and security. I’ve got a patient who needs monitoring and there are still several unsearched establishments on the upper level of the Promenade that people might be hiding in."

The response was not… _pleased,_ but they couldn’t actually argue with a patient requiring supervision. Garak looked very amused at the idea of _being_ such a patient.

“‘Monitoring,’ Doctor?”

"I have to make sure the antidote keeps doing its job." No point sugarcoating things for someone like Garak. _"And_ that it doesn’t end up being worse for you than the virus was.”

"Ah. I’m to be both the test subject _and_ the recipient of the results of the testing.” Garak picked up another shirt. “One of the many dubious honors of being the only representative of my species. The things I put up with for this shop, Doctor, I can’t _tell_ you…”

"I’m sure."


	10. Science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another tag to "Babel"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: aphasia, unreality, death (mentioned)

"Lieutenant Dax?"

Jadzia looked up from the terminal just quickly enough to see Kira’s hand sliding off the hilt of her phaser. She raised her eyebrows – relearning how to do just the one was near the top of her priority list. “Major.”

Kira didn’t move from the doorway. “What are you doing?”

 _Science_ , Jadzia nearly said, because it was late and she was tired. Instead she smiled. “I’m looking into the mechanics of the station’s universal translator system.”

"Why?"

"Because…" Jadzia shrugged. "…It’s interesting."

For a few seconds, Kira said nothing and did nothing, and Jadzia had the distinct feeling she was aiming for a tense silence. To combat this, she poked slightly more animatedly at the terminal controls.

Kira stepped into the room. “You set off an old alarm we thought we’d shut down. A security notice just got rerouted to my quarters letting me know someone was using the lab after hours.”

Slowly and guiltily, Jadzia lowered her hands. “…Oh. Oops.”

Kira crossed her arms and came around to look at the terminal. “Wasn’t really your fault. I wasn’t asleep anyway. What’s so interesting about the translator?”

"It just occurred to me," Jadzia said, cautiously resuming her work in the light of the Major’s not-quite-disapproval, "that the full effect of the aphasia virus spelled out more than a few implications about the translator’s telepathic components. I’m trying to figure out what levels they function on."

Kira was watching her hands move. “Lieutenant, I’m very tired. You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

"We all knew at least the basic concept of what we were trying to say, but it still came out wrong." A screen to their right flashed, and Jadzia moved over to look through the readings. "Most translators can pick up a speaker’s intentions, and the one here _must_ be able to do that or there would be a _lot_ of mixed messages and miscommunication going on every day. I doubt we’re even speaking the same language right now.”

Kira shifted on her feet. “I try not to think about that. The Cardassians always made sure their announcements translated, but other than that, we didn’t have any advanced translators in the resistance. We didn’t need them.”

"Aren’t there -"

“ _Several_ languages on Bajor, yes, thank you for doing your _homework_. And different dialects and accents for each of them. We learned to adapt. We stuck with groups we could understand and we learned as much as we could.” She leaned over Jadzia’s shoulder, peering at the readout. “It’s a little strange to know there are hundreds of languages being _spoken_ and – _written_ and _signed,_ all around me every day, and all of it is being changed in my own head to… _suit_ me. Is this necessary?”

Jadzia blinked. “It might be.”

"Are you worried about a system failure?"

"Not… really."

Kira straightened up, arms still folded. “Lieutenant. A lot of people almost died today.”

Jadzia tried a smile. “Almost, Major.”

The terminal chirruped quietly as new information scrolled down over the screen. Kira took a step back. “This isn’t a _game_. We had hundreds of people practically at death’s door and you… find the ‘implications’ _interesting.”_

Jadzia shrugged. Kira clearly wanted her to be rattled, but she wasn’t really feeling it. “I’m a scientist. And I couldn’t sleep.”

The terminal stopped its noise. Kira dropped her arms and sighed. “…You’re right. This is your job. I’ll… let you get back to it.” She turned and moved quickly towards the door, hands now clasped tightly behind her back.

Well, _that_ would be a terrible mood to end either of their nights in. Jadzia looked up. “Major.” Kira stopped, and turned, and for only a moment they locked eyes. Jadzia knew how to make use of these moments. She smiled again. “I can always use a lab partner to bounce ideas off of. You could stay, if you want.”

She did.


	11. INTERMISSION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've seen several music videos posted on this archive, so I thought I'd give it a shot. I considered posting this as its own entry, but it was made very much in the spirit of these ficlets - created with the energy of my first viewing of the show. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Scopophobia cw, fire cw, explosions cw, kissing cw, death cw. MANY MANY SPOILERS. References to drug use in song lyrics, interpreted differently in video. LOTS OF FLASHING LIGHTS.


	12. Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: the Siskos, "too much"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode tag to 6x21, "The Reckoning."
> 
> Ben and Jake's relationship is one of my favorite aspects of the show. I love that no matter how many other responsibilities Benjamin has to take care of, no matter what he's forced to put first, at the end of the day Jake is always his priority.

Ben Sisko’s life had always been a juggling act - throw Starfleet cadet, catch hopeless romantic, throw, catch son of a chef with inherited intense dislike of replicated food.

Starfleet Academy graduate, boyfriend, cook, fan of a sport no one played anymore.

Starfleet officer, father, husband, cook, baseball enthusiast.

Officer, father, widower, and that was when he started to drop things.

Not for very long, because the responsibilities didn’t disappear. Jake still needed him and he still had a job to do, and maybe they would both be better off if that job no longer meant running around the galaxy on someone else’s whim -

Station commander, father, widower, Emissary of the Prophets, and that just wasn’t fair. They weren’t even his prophets, it wasn’t even his planet, didn’t he have enough on his plate?

Commander, father, widower, Emissary, hopeless romantic. Kasidy liked _baseball_ , and that just wasn’t fair.

He wasn’t sure exactly when _Emissary_ stopped being the one thing he didn’t care about as much as the rest.

_Your Emissary offers himself to us. His faith wavers._

_That is your **son** out there!_

Captain, Emissary, father.

He sat by Jake’s biobed and tried to find something, anything he could possibly say to explain -

_The Prophets will protect him!_

"You did the right thing," Jake said, and it was true. It was true. Risking one man’s life for countless others, putting his faith in the Prophets to keep Jake safe, had been the right thing for the captain to do, the right thing for the Emissary, and the wrongest possible thing for the father.

He couldn’t always be everything.

He took Jake’s hand and settled in to be a father and nothing else for a good long while.


	13. it's the little things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Sacrifice of Angels. AU. Ziyal is interrupted in her musings by a visitor.

It’s been a couple of days. She hasn’t started any new paintings. Her ribs still ache when she moves.

They tell her she’s lucky to be alive. They tell her her father carried her to sickbay, burst in with her draped over his arms and grandly gave himself up in exchange for her treatment.

She likes to think they would have treated her anyway.

The door chimes, and she says “Come in,” expecting it to be Nerys, or maybe Garak. She thinks briefly of them running into each other on their way to check on her for the hundredth time, and how funny that would be. How funny it is to have such friends. How funny it is that so many people who care about her can’t stand each other.

It’s Quark. For a moment she can only stare at him, before she realizes she’s not actually surprised. “Can I help you?”

He steps inside nervously and glances around as the door slides shut. She watches him take in the paintings, and the holos of herself with her friends and family. There are no holos of all of them together. How funny.

"I was conducting some business in this part of the habitat ring," Quark begins, overly casual, and she doesn’t care enough to work out whether it’s a lie, "and I thought I might as well stop by and see how you were doing."

She tilts her head, and considers things. She is sitting on the floor in front of an unlit, makeshift [duranja](http://en.memory-alpha.org/wiki/Duranja), wondering what to mourn, and every breath makes her chest constrict. “I’m fine.”

"Right." He clasps his hands behind his back and looks uncomfortable. "Well. Good."

"And you?"

That startles him. “Me?”

She smiles. “I’m not a child, Quark. I’m getting a little tired of people asking how I’m doing and pretending the same thing shouldn’t be asked of them.”

He stares at her. “I’m fine.”

She nods, and looks back at the duranja. “I haven’t been to see my father yet.”

"It’s been two days."

"I know." She lights the lamp and hopes the flame might figure out on its own what it’s for. "They tell me he’s been asking for me. You can sit down."

She sees him do so, settling uneasily onto the small couch just within her peripheral vision.

The flame flickers.

 _Innocence_ , Ziyal thinks, and almost laughs at herself. Too late. Too late for any of them.

She doubts Quark had ever killed anyone before those two guards. She doesn’t ask. “How’s Rom?”

"Alive."

"So are you."

"Imagine my surprise."

"I don’t have to."

He doesn’t apologize. She wouldn’t believe him if he did.

"I’m not a very good brother," he says instead, abruptly, and she doesn’t argue. He wouldn’t believe her if she did. "But I had plenty of opportunities, during the Occupation… He was bad for business. I didn’t have to keep him around. I dragged him through to the other side of that mess, _both_ of them, my brother _and_ my nephew. They’d be dead if it wasn’t for me. The first Ferengi in Starfleet and some sort of _social activist_.” He says the words like they taste bad. Shakes his head and continues, quietly, “I don’t know how to be proud of them. But I’m learning to be glad I didn’t… leave them to die. Just… Family. You know?”

Ziyal looks into the flame for a long time.

 _Denial_ , she thinks, and it sounds about right.

She blows the lamp out and slowly turns around to face Quark. He doesn’t say anything about her wincing. She’s glad. If one more person scrambles to tell her she doesn’t have to do something, she’ll scream.

"My life was hell until Nerys and my father rescued me," she says simply, looking past him at a painting that meant everything during the process and means nothing now that it’s up on a wall. Her breath catches and she steels herself against the instinct to clutch at her chest. "It’s better now," she murmurs. "And that’s supposed to be _it_. My life is supposed to make sense. They saved me. He saved me. He loves me. That’s supposed to make him… better.”

"But?"

She looks at the door, now. Anywhere but at a painting or a person. “He’s not. So I should… hate him. But I can’t.”

"Nothing’s ever simple."

"No. But I _am_ just…" She takes a breath, carefully, and sits up straighter. "I’m tired of him saving me. I think he - he thinks the same thing. That it makes him better. I’m not going to see him until I’m sure I’ll be able to stop myself from believing it again."

"I wanted to talk to you about your paintings."

She blinks. “What?”

Quark is smiling his businessman’s smile; there is suddenly a distinct feeling in the air that he is about to try to cheat her at something.

She likes it a lot better than the worried, careful looks everyone else has been giving her.

He shrugs, looks around again. “I’ve been thinking the bar could use a little more _culture_ , lately.”

"I couldn’t agree more."

"My customers are still… _terribly_ shaken. I’m sure they would appreciate something new to take their mind off things.”

She squints at him. "You want to hang my paintings up to distract people from a war?" She likes the sound of it, but that's not for him to know until he's handed over the latinum.

He splays his hands out and grins. “It’s the little things that make a plan come together. I need your help for this particular step. Name your price.”

Ziyal grins back. “I’ll have to speak with my agent first.”

Quark’s smile fades. “Agent?”

"Yes. You’ll have to come back later, I’m afraid - Nerys is very busy right now. I’ll arrange a meeting."

She stands, catches her breath as the world briefly swims. Sticks out her hand and looks at him until he shakes it.

"Give Rom and Leeta my best."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles, and she ushers him gingerly out the door.

It’s about time she started a new piece.


	14. That Kind of Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings: Unreality, possession, nightmares (undescribed) brought on by what is probably PTSD. Prison (mentioned).
> 
> Keiko/Miles/Julian, implied Keiko/Nerys.

It's been the best and worst night.

It started out on good terms: all three of them are finally in one place and on similar enough schedules to spend time together. They had dinner, loud and joyful and laughing when Kirayoshi decided he'd rather wear his food than eat it; Julian read Molly a bedtime story while Keiko and Miles got Yoshi clean and settled.

It's been weeks - months? - since the three of them have been able to share a bed. Miles usually sleeps in the middle but Keiko has been away so long, and they miss her, and she misses them, and she settles between them with Miles' arm around her waist and her legs tangled up with Julian's, and she lets herself think that maybe this is going to be a good night.

She wakes up suddenly, with no memory of any dreams. Familiar anxiety hovers in her chest, her stomach, and she climbs out of the middle of the bed as quickly and quietly as she can. She doesn't want to talk. She wants to breathe.

She checks on the children. Smiles down at Yoshi and wonders how soon Nerys will be able to get away from work long enough to have lunch. Lingers over Molly's bed and remembers a force beyond her control, dragging a brush through her daughter's hair and beaming at her husband.

That kind of morning, she thinks, and wanders out to sit on the couch. She doesn't turn the lights on. If she sits here in the half-dark, lit by the stars, she can almost believe she is - maybe not on Earth, but on a  _planet_ , somewhere with a sunrise, watching the light of dawn bleed slowly through the curtains.

Miles will be up soon. He always wakes up when someone leaves the bed.

When he does come out and sit beside her, he doesn't speak. She leans into him, and he wraps an arm around her and kisses the top of her head, and his posture speaks of a tension that has always told her he would be shaking if he wasn't used to working on delicate machinery in unstable conditions. She closes her eyes. "Good morning."

He laughs. "Morning."

They doze.

Julian is not long behind Miles. He sits on Keiko's other side and doesn't touch either of them. Miles murmurs a soft greeting and Julian nods, barely, and tilts his head back against the couch cushions.

Keiko is not quite awake or asleep. She has no idea how much time has passed when she hears Julian say, "So I'm clear, we have in fact all just had horrible nightmares about entirely _separate_ horrible things, yes?"

"Prison," Miles grunts.

"Possession," Keiko whispers, eyes closed.

"False reality," Julian says, voice brittle with artificial cheer. "What a team we are. Extra points for shared elements, Miles, we should start keeping _score_."

Without opening her eyes, Keiko reaches a hand out towards him, offering the contact silently. After a pause, she feels his fingers carefully enclose hers. "We're real, Julian," she says, and it is exactly the sort of thing a hologram or replicant or clone ( _or Pah-wraith_ , she realizes, and can't suppress a shudder) might say, but she is exhausted.

Julian lays his head on her shoulder. "And you're you," he says quietly.

She smiles, tight and suddenly fighting tears, and opens her eyes to look at Miles. "And none of us are alone."


End file.
